


The Red Right Hand

by Himboskywalker



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bottom Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Sith Anakin Skywalker, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Suitless Darth Vader, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himboskywalker/pseuds/Himboskywalker
Summary: Darth Vader makes a grave mistake and must pay for his betrayal against his master. Some punishments must fit the crime,especially against the Emperor of the Galactic Empire.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 320
Collections: Obikin Kink Exchange





	The Red Right Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [septemberist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/septemberist/gifts).



> Filled for Claire's request of bottom Anakin and Sith Obi-Wan with verbal humiliation and public/semi-public sex, TECHNICALLY speaking it's still the 15th on the West Coast if you squint,so I totally made it when I was supposed to lmao 
> 
> Sorry for the wait my dear,I hope your week gets much much better! <3

Anakin stared out the viewport, arms clasped at the small of his back. The stars bled past, though he paid their sapphire smears little mind, it was his own pale and gaunt reflection he frowned at. A cold and hollowed fear sat in his stomach like a durasteel block and he swallowed against it. It was the same anxious curl of his gut as a padawan, when he knew he faced a horrible dressing down from Obi-Wan. It was the same anxiousness as a knight, when he knew he faced his master’s disappointment. The anxiousness now weighed far heavier and came with the cold pinprick of real danger.

The white haze of a clone trooper’s helmet came into focus behind him. “Lord Vader, the Emperor requested your presence before the grand court when we land.”

His stomach ached with anxiety and he took a breath beneath the heavy press of his chest plate. It was an overreaction he knew…probably. The same way he shook and cowered when first brought to the temple as a child, terrified of how his master’s anger and disappointment might manifest. He feared reprimand from the Emperor just as he feared it from Obi-Wan in all their years together.

“Understood,” he informed the trooper, who left just as silent and swift as he came.

They were all like that now, quiet and measured. They owed their undying loyalty to the Emperor, to the man who freed them from the slave chips in their skulls and the endless war they bled and died through. They called the Emperor the Angel of Death, with reverence and terror in one. They risked everything for him, served him to the very end, the man who in the midst of a war, with the entire galaxy on his shoulders, finally said _enough._

The sea of blood that came after did not matter to them. The carnage and piles of bodies, the coldness and sharpness to a man once made of nothing but warmth and love. It broke him and they in turn broke for him as well. Anakin broke for him—tore himself in half and would have rent his body to nothing but dust for the man who meant him everything.

In the end, he did much worse than tear himself apart for Obi-Wan Kenobi. But ripping the galaxy to shreds to leave nothing but bloody claw marks behind, standing amongst a Star Destroyer littered with cauterized corpses, it all stilled and hung on a breath when his master put delicate fingertips to his scar and murmured against his lips. “My darling I will burn it down for you.”

As he always did, Obi-Wan kept his promise. He burnt the galaxy to the ground and in its place built a better world, an atonement to the lives lost in the war, to the peace Obi-Wan had desperately craved for so long. Anakin did not know peace, he enforced it, but everything had its price.

Coruscant’s skyline looked much the same even after the war, flecked by trillions of lights and ships and speeders. The planet prospered under the Emperor’s rule just as the entire galaxy did. Perhaps the only real changes were the ever-rising skyscrapers, newly built that towered towards the heavens, and the quiet, dark mausoleum of the Jedi temple there amongst it all.

The Emperor’s palace compared as such a beacon of light in the cityscape, a gargantuan monolith of marble and golden halls. Look here, it said, look at all we have done. He quaked to look at it, or maybe he quaked thinking of his master’s anger that awaited him inside. He knew when he had kriffed up, but he somehow never knew what to expect of his master in response.

His ship docked in the twilight and he marched through the shadowed halls with his closest guard, the last remains of his men from the 501.st. The marches of their boots clomped heavily and echoed through the halls in time with the fierce pounding of his heart against his ribs.

And it was into the dimly cast convocation hall they entered; all onyx stone lit by amber glow lamps. He glanced quickly at the murmuring crowd and his stomach lurched nervously. A fully assembled court boded an ill temper from the Emperor and promised short patience for his master’s handling of his misconduct, worse—his betrayal. He only hoped, privately, that his master might dismiss his troops before he publicly eviscerated him. The court he cared almost nothing for, made up of soulless politicians and power grabbing troglodytes, but his soldiers, his men he cared for what they saw, what they thought of him. And his captain behind him especially, he did not wish to see him taking a verbal scolding before half the galaxy’s representatives.

It was after he dreaded most of all, having to slink into their chambers and seeing his master’s private disappointment that cut so much deeper than any dressing down before a grand court. It was knowing that even after public humiliation, he would crawl into his master’s bed and find solace and love and forgiveness.

“Come forth Lord Vader.”

He swallowed and stepped through the crowd to approach the raised dais of the Galactic Crowned Emperor and knelt on both knees before the throne of his master. Obi-Wan sat, one leg crossed over the other, all glinting black boots and wine-red robes. Anakin risked a quick glance up from under his lashes and caught the hard flash of golden eyes and his master’s twisted mouth beneath the black zircon of his crown.

“I heard such a curious…rumor, general.”

He knew the ice in his master’s tone, heard the vein of danger that promised any manner of retribution. He’d kriffed up, more than he ever had before, more than trusting Sidious, more than marrying Padmé in secret, more than the first time he saw Obi-Wan’s gold eyes and cowered away.

“And what would that be, master?” He breathed to the marble under his knees.

“I heard,” his master said, eerily calm and cool, “that you let the rebel Padmé Amidala escape.”

He swallowed and pressed his fingers against his thighs where the muscles quivered with a fine tremor. “Yes, master,” he whispered to the ground, “I did.”

“You committed treason against the Empire—treason against the Grand Court, treason against the soldiers who serve you and have died to apprehend and control the very rebel you purposely let escape. And you committed treason against me, who you have sworn to serve to your last dying breath as the right hand of the Empire, whom you call master and have sworn unbreakable fealty. Explain to me—Lord Vader, how you could betray me so.”

He shook more then and felt sweat gather at his neck, under the harsh cut of his armor and at the curls plastered against his temples. He fought to take steady breaths around the tight ball of panic climbing higher and higher in his throat and casting his thoughts hazy and muted with adrenaline lit fear. He had never assumed to be accused of treason, never thought that here…before his master, the man he loved, that he might be executed.

“She asked me for mercy, master.”

“Ahhh,” crooned Obi-Wan, “and you saw fit to bestow it, how generous of you, Lord Vader, the angel of mercy. And you thought, after four years of serving as my right hand, that breaking your vows would be so easy because a simpering senator begged you? Tell me, was it because you put your cock in her, is that all it takes to soften your heart so?”

Anakin closed his eyes and bowed his head, fighting back the hot prick of tears behind his lids and the tight ache in his throat. He wanted to lift his head and cry, master I love you, please don’t do this. Master I do serve you, but I loved her too and I couldn’t bear it, Obi-Wan I beg you.

Instead he said, “No, master. It was the wrong decision, I know, and I’m—I’m so sorry, master.”

“Sorry?” Obi-Wan spat, eyebrows arched high and incredulous. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

Hot tears escaped the corners of his eyes then and burned their sluggish tracks down his cheeks. Darth Vader did not weep—did not whimper nor cower, but before the terror of being cast out, before the cold and betrayed eyes of his master, Anakin Skywalker did.

He fell forward and pressed his face to the marble in a position of utter supplication. The previous worry of embarrassment before his soldiers, before the entire grand court of the Empire fell away to nothing. They did not matter, nothing mattered beyond his master’s forgiveness, to not have irremediably fucked up without a return.

“I made a terrible mistake, master, and I betrayed our Empire, I betrayed you as both my Emperor and my master. I—I have served you from the moment I knew you,” his voice broke then, and he wept open tears onto the marble. “I have been loyal to you and followed you in all our days together and I would see—I would see myself dead before I could bear the thought of leaving your side. I—what can I do to earn your trust again, master.”

Only the sound of his pulse thumping heavy and panicked in his ears filled the silence after his choked-out declaration. The whole court and his private guard seemed to hold their breaths behind him and he wondered, faintly, if Obi-Wan would unclip his saber from his belt and decapitate him right then and there.

“Lift your heard, Lord Vader,” his master lilted.

He did so slowly, apprehension dragging his body’s movements stilted and unwilling. Tear streaked and with sweat matted curls he blinked up to his master and his golden cast eyes. He looked imperious staring down from his dark throne, wreathed in red and every line of him wrote coiled and dangerous.

“What do you possibly think could convince me of your absolute loyalty and supplication when you have so blatantly and frivolously betrayed me?”

“Whatever I have to, master,” he rasped.

“Whatever you have to?” The Emperor laughed back. He lowered his crossed leg, boot hitting the marble with a clack, and sat forward with his fingers steepled between his knees. His handsome face, carved hard and cruel by war and death and heartbreak, looked chiseled from durasteel in the dim light. He was beautiful, with his copper lashes and honey eyes, with his silken manners and flirtatious smile, but he was death too—and terror, and he held Anakin’s heart and soul in the palm of his hand and in that moment, he feared it to be crushed without hesitation or mercy.

“Whatever you have to,” his master wondered aloud. “Might I have you crawl across this hall like a dog, perhaps? Or demote you to nothing more than a slave in this palace? Perhaps I should send you back to Tatooine, that miserable dustball that you crawled from?”

Anakin closed his eyes and forced out, “if you wish it, master?”

“Hmm—if I wish it. What I wish, is that you had not disobeyed my command because your attentions were swayed by your cock, like a dog after a bitch in heat. How am I to ever trust you again? Should I worry that any wet hole you come across will collar you like a mindless animal in rut and lead you away from me?”

“No—no—no,” he sobbed out, voice barely audible past the cracked open wound in his throat. “Master, it wasn’t like that— _please—_ ”

“Wasn’t it?” He responded as he leaned back in his throne, voice dismissive and full of judgement. “She was your wife; do not think you can hide that from me. You betrayed the Jedi Order for her, why wouldn’t you betray me?”

He whimpered then and burned in humiliation as the pitiful noise seemed to echo on and on through the chamber and its breathless silence. He did not keep secrets from his master, did not bar any part of himself from his golden eyed master. He did not hide himself as he drenched his hands in the blood of innocents for him, did not hide when he opened his legs to him in the night and took his cock and screamed from the pleasure of it. But he had thought…foolishly, that some past secrets were dead and held no reason for their graves to be unearthed.

It occurred to him as he wept before the throne of his master and gazed up into his icy and rage filled eyes, that Obi-Wan was jealous. It seemed absurd, the Grand Emperor of the galaxy, a Sith Lord, his master— _Obi-Wan—_ was jealous of a woman he married so long ago, jealous when Anakin murdered half the order for him, jealous when he gave himself to the darkside without hesitation to follow him, jealous when Anakin had begged him years before, to kiss him—touch him—come inside him and mark him. It was a manic and obsessive love he held, something all consuming that crackled like a hungry flame in the chambers of his heart. If he could peel his ribs back to make room for Obi-Wan to crawl entirely inside him he would. And he was _jealous?_

Anakin served as his blood-soaked right hand, as enforcer and executioner to the omniscient judgment of his Emperor. And he would burn a thousand galaxies to atomic dust before ever leaving his side.

“I would never betray you like that,” he croaked, shaken and swaying on his knees. “Master _please—_ ”

“You can grovel like a dog since that’s what you are—you can _crawl_ Lord Vader, and since you’re so helpless to rutting like an animal, I think we can indulge you.”

He blinked quickly and rocked back unsurely, frozen in panic and confusion.

Obi-Wan propped his chin on his hand with a finger pressed to his cheekbone and regarded him with icy disinterest. “That was an order Lord Vader, _crawl._ ”

The burn in his throat as he dropped forward and crawled across the marble to his master couldn’t quite be described as humiliation. It felt like the weight of degradation around his throat, as if Obi-Wan pressed with the force on the back of his neck in abasement. His flesh hand slipped as he moved, sweat slicked skin pressing overheated and clammy to the cold floor as he felt the incinerating scorch of thousands of eyes against his shoulders and the back of his head.

He cowered and shook with shocky adrenaline as he approached the dais of the Emperor and prostrated himself before his master’s boots. He burned hotter than a sun and pressed his flushed forehead to the marble and tried to steady the panicked thundering of his pulse.

“Look at me.”

Anakin raised his head from the floor and tearily blinked up at Obi-Wan, fear sitting high and tight in his throat and he bit down deeper embarrassment when his bottom lip wobbled from holding back on openly crying.

“Now, Lord Vader,” his master purred, “since playing the part of whore is what you like, I think we can put your mouth to use at the very least, don’t you think?”

“Master?”

“On your knees with your lips wrapped ‘round my cock is how this court and your men should see you, since you can’t be trusted to control yourself.”

He was not stupid enough to question what his master meant by that, though he did rock back on his thighs and hesitate for a stilted moment. Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed dangerously at his second’s pause and he beckoned him forward by one outstretched finger and the glint of gold beneath furrowed copper brows.

“Attend me, Lord Vader.”

Anakin crawled forward to fit himself between the splayed line of his legs and blinked up under the curl of tear dampened lashes. He hesitated and then pressed grazing fingertips to the inside of Obi-Wan’s thighs and gentled his legs further apart.

He wavered, not from performing such an act before the entire Galactic court—or even his men, but because this—between them had always remained their secret behind closed doors. Not by his own desire, rather the opposite, but because he knew, ultimately, he ashamed his master. That lack of shame confused him now, or perhaps his master’s anger measured deep enough to override it.

Obi-Wan laid fingers against the back of his head and twisted his fist in curls. “I said,” he gritted menacingly and yanked his head back to bare Anakin’s throat. “To put your mouth on my cock and show this court all you’re apparently good for, acting the whore.”

Anakin scrambled at his master’s thighs for purchase against the wrenching stretch of his head so that he blinked wide eyed into familiar gold.

What did strike him as humiliating was the way his stomach flipped with embarrassed want, even on his knees and called a whore before the entire galactic court and the remains of the 501st. He hated that even though this was a punishment, that his master was incomprehensibly furious with him to do it, it still made his stomach swoop and his cock thicken under the layers of his clothes and armor.

“Yes, master,” he gasped out and swayed forward on quavering knees to mouth shakily at his master’s cock beneath the lines of his robes and pants. Obi-Wan’s hand tightened in his curls and he wobbled an uneven sigh against warm fabric that dampened from the open-lipped press of his mouth.

He did hesitate uncertainly when he did not feel the hardened line he was so used to, and he blinked up into Obi-Wan’s golden eyes unsurely.

His master’s mouth twisted flatly. “There’s no need to act demure now, Lord Vader, when I can see you are gagging for it.”

He blushed furiously and ducked his head, feeling scalded and scolded in one, that those words echoed through the hall for everyone to hear so clearly. But he pawed at Obi-Wan’s robes and pushed them back to expose his pants’ fasteners and obediently pulled his master’s soft cock above the open slit of fabric.

He gulped and allowed himself the briefest second of burning humiliation, knowing that so many eyes watched him crawl and slither in submission, crying and so willing to swallow his master’s cock. But they didn’t matter, he told himself, only appeasing his master did, earning any form of forgiveness and benediction he had to offer.

So he swallowed down the hot prickle of shame and embarrassment that brought tears to his eyes and lowered his mouth to the fat head of his master’s cock and licked. Even soft he tasted warm and familiar and he sighed, parting his lips to suck on the rounded tip and wriggle his tongue against his slit.

Slowly—ever so slowly as he suckled and relaxed his jaw to work his master deeper into his mouth, he felt his cock harden and thicken against his tongue. Almost imperceptibly Obi-Wan’s hand tightened in his curls and he sighed, sucking harder against the stiffening head. At the first pearl of salty precome he moaned helplessly and rocked his hips despite himself.

His master opened his legs wider for him and he obediently pressed himself deeper to take his cock to the back of his throat. He swallowed around excess saliva and the feeling of his nose running and the fingers in his hair tightened painfully.

“Look at me.”

He blinked open swimming eyes dutifully and gazed up at his master with his lips stretched around his leaking cock. He wanted to whimper, I’m sorry, please forgive me. But on his knees and drooling, all he could do was beg with his tear dampened eyes.

“Look at you,” his master said. “The feared and venerated Lord Vader, crying so prettily and hard in his armor from sucking cock. I wonder what the court thinks—what your men think? Should I ask them?” He pitched his voice then to carry beyond where Anakin sat between his knees. “And what does Lord Vader’s men think of the slut between my legs?”

Anakin whined and blinked, mortified at the sharp ache of want in his gut and jolt of his cock against the press of his pants.

“Oh?” His master lilted. “Do you like that? You like gagging on my cock where your men can see? You like them hearing you called a slut?”

He keened and closed his eyes to trap the hot burn of tears behind them. It didn’t matter whether he liked it or didn’t like it. His master had never wanted the galaxy to see them like this and only allowed it as punishment now. And maybe that didn’t matter either. All that mattered was redeeming himself, was somehow convincing his master he would literally do anything for redemption or forgiveness. It didn’t matter that his master’s words made him ache, made him leak in his pants.

“Let me see you cry, Lord Vader. I want to see you sob and gag just to get my cock in your mouth.”

The high-pitched animal noise that escaped him somehow felt like the most humiliating thing to transpire so far. It was not the punishment that made him blaze with shame before the High Galactic court and his men, it was the way he ached for it.

Obi-Wan slumped a little oddly then and he blinked up through his tears to realize he was curling forward to whisper in his ear while Anakin hollowed his cheeks around him.

“Poor little desperate thing,” he whispered damply against his temple. “So needy you’re in tears for it. I bet you’re hard and leaking, you get so wet for me don’t you, darling?”

Anakin choked as he tried to muffle the desperate noise he made as he scrabbled at the inside of Obi-Wan’s thighs and squirmed.

His master raked sweat soaked curls from his eyes and panted against his salt slicked skin. “Is that all you’re good for now, Lord Vader, on your knees and ready to take my cock? Years of fighting and saber training—years of serving as my right hand, and this is what you are now, a slut so desperate you would let me fuck you right here on this throne?”

He keened and let his master’s cock slip from his mouth and wiped drool from his chin as he stared up desperately, panting and quivering from tightly wound mortification and desperation that somehow wound as one throbbing live wire down his spine.

“Master, _please,”_ he begged, “whatever you want—I’ll do whatever you want.”

Obi-Wan pulled him from the marble floor by a durasteel tight grip of his curls and snapped him around by fingers digging into his hipbone so that he faced the crowd in a tilted back crouch. He flushed hotter than a sun and came aware of the sweat glistening against his forehead, of how dazed and dizzy he felt. His master only gave him a moment to sway and blink before he yanked him back into his lap by that same unforgiving grip in his hair.

He settled, legs splayed over his master’s thighs and bit at his bottom lip as he closed his eyes, unable to meet any of their silent watchers’ eyes. He knew they could see how hard he was, even through his armor, they could see how flushed and desperate he looked. How eager he went to his knees to suck the Emperor’s cock and gag on it.

He jerked and bit down any other embarrassing noises when his master reached his hand around him to squeeze the hard line of his cock under his clothes and black armor. Obi-Wan chuckled throatily against his back and said loudly, “It seems our Lord Vader is just as I said, a dog led by the leash of his hard and aching cock. Let the Galactic court see you here, my right hand, let them see you wet and wanting.”

He turned his head aside and swallowed heavily, feeling scorched to blistering with the humiliation that licked at his insides like flames.

“No, no,” his master tutted and dug fingers into his jaw to force his head forward. “I want you to look at them while I fuck you.”

His line of sight bounced from indifferent faces, all watching with careful expressions of cool disinterest. But forced blank expressions of the Galactic court held nothing to the blank reflections from his soldiers’ helmet visors, from where his captain stood at attention, so still it didn’t even look as if he breathed.

“Master I—”

“I did not say you could speak, Lord Vader, that was not a request. I am going to pull your pants down and press my cock into you and you will look your men in the eyes as you beg for it like a whore.”

He shuddered and dug desperate fingers against the arms of the Emperor’s throne while his master pulled down the back of his pants just far enough to expose his cleft and the meat of his upper thighs.

Obi-Wan spat loudly into his hand and then prodded a finger at his hole. He clenched his fingers tighter in shock at the pressure and breach inside of him. His master did not touch him like this, did not press his fingers inside him without proper lubrication or with merciless insistence. No matter how Anakin begged for it, begged to be used and broken—it was always a slow and methodical shattering. There was nothing slow or methodical about the way his master wriggled his fingers past his tight rim, uncomfortably stretching him with only spit to ease the foreign and fast paced stretch.

He wriggled against it and stifled a breathless noise and though it went directly against what his master told him, he closed his eyes, utterly unable to look upon the crowd as they watched him make broken noises and take the Emperor’s fingers up his ass.

Obi-Wan did two things in that moment, faster than Anakin could wrench his eyes open, he crooked the fingers inside him while reaching up with his opposite hand to squeeze his hand tightly around his throat.

“ _Master!”_ He whined, horribly loud and broken past the tight grip around his throat.

His master paused at that and then purred against the back of his neck while he curled his fingers deeper inside him. “Look at you,” he murmured, “force listen to you cry for it in front of everyone. I want to hear you beg, Lord Vader—let them hear you beg for me.”

He fought the instinctual urge to rock his hips and chewed at his bottom lip. “Please don’t make me,” he gritted past his grinding jaw, still unable to look out onto the crowd. “Master—please—”

Obi-Wan squeezed another finger inside him and rocked his hand, sending sharp curls of pleasure unfurling in his gut as he screwed his eyes shut and felt hot tears leak past his closed lids.

“I said _beg,_ Lord Vader.”

“Please,” he cried, “master, please.”

Obi-Wan pulled his fingers out of him and gripped his thighs with both hands, forcing his legs further apart. “Oh darling, surely you know you must do better than that. Look at your men—look at your captain and beg for my cock.”

He trembled and swallowed past the tight squeeze of his throat that throbbed like the heat of a broken bone. “Master I—” he chewed at the inside of his cheek as he looked at the dark glints of his men’s visors, of his captain’s, as they watched. “Master—please fuck me?”

Obi-Wan nosed against the back of his neck and huffed. “I thought you said you would do anything, Lord Vader, I must say I am unimpressed.”

Fear jolted beside the thick arousal in his stomach and he shook with worry and humiliation then, legs spread wide while he panted and squirmed in the Emperor’s lap on the throne. He canted his hips back then and arched his back to grind against his master as he had wanted to do the moment he unlaced his pants.

“ _Please_ master, I want to feel your cock inside me,” he whimpered loudly. “I want to feel you—please I need you—I—I need it.”

“What do you need, Lord Vader?”

He let his head fall back against his master’s shoulder and moaned. “I need your cock, master, please.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan bit at the arched curve of his bared throat, “since you begged so nicely, it would be cruel to refuse a bitch in heat, after all.”

He bit down a sob and kept his head turned to the side as his master pulled his cheeks apart to slot his cock in the seam of his ass.

“Relax for me, darling,” Obi-Wan murmured against his jaw and pressed his cockhead against his entrance.

He sighed and arched and canted and groaned all in one against the slow press of his master’s cock inside of him.

“There we are, my pet,” Obi-Wan licked into his skin, “just like that. Take my cock for me, my love, show them what a desperate whore you are for me.”

Anakin arched and squirmed to take him deeper, even as the stretch burned. It shocked him a little, the way it hurt so keenly when every time before his master had been so diligent with him, so slow to finger him till he sobbed for it.

But it was the way Obi-Wan panted against his neck and groaned a strained, “that’s it—let them see how perfectly you take me,” that had him moaning and throbbing dangerously with sharp curling jolts.

Then sharp fingers dug into his jaw and forced his eyes forward again as Obi-Wan snapped his hips to drive his cock deeper inside of him so that he rolled his own hips with a stilted whimper.

“Look at them—look them in the eyes while you moan for me. Show them what a good little bitch you are for me.”

Sweat caught stiflingly under his armor as he whined high and pitiful when forced to look at the court and his soldiers as they watched him keen and writhe. His master rocked beneath him and his legs trembled to keep himself upright as he took the hard length of his cock with jagged arcs of pleasure.

“Look at them, Lord Vader,” his master called while thrusting his cock inside of him. “Let them see you for what you. Let them see what good you are to me—how my right hand serves me.”

Anakin swallowed down sudden tears and blinked high towards the ceiling. They saw him cry and they saw him taking the Emperor’s cock, he didn’t want them to see him doing both. But then his master gripped tight at his curls and forced his head back to mouth at the shell of his ear and say with clear delight.

“Oh you poor thing—are you crying again? Is it that good, did you need it that badly?”

Stinging tears escaped the corners of his eyes and he jerkily nodded. “Ye—yes, master.”

“Tell your men how good I feel—just how desperate you were for me, desperate enough to lash out just so I would punish you.”

He sobbed and fumbled a hand between his legs to finally give in and squeeze his cock as he wailed, clear and high, “you feel so _good,_ master—please—don’t stop!”

“That’s it, darling,” his master bit against his jaw, “let them see, the Emperor’s whore so desperate for it you’ll come on my cock from punishment.”

He clenched around the cock inside him and curled his toes inside his boots against the branding lances of pleasure unfurling deep in his gut and causing his cock to leak in steady spurts where he ached torturously, teetering on the edge.

“Let them see the Sith Lord Darth Vader take his master’s cock and weep from it.”

He bit at his own flesh fingers and pressed against his cock with durasteel as he slipped past control and spilled against the line of his own hand with a shrill, mortifying noise.

Obi-Wan tightened his hands against Anakin’s hips and continued the hard snaps of his hips for several more breathless moments before he stiffened against him and sighed, so quietly he just barely caught the whisper of ‘Anakin’ against his curls.

He stayed in his master’s lap, shaking and stricken—the utter mortification of what he had done truly settling in once the lust and want cleared from his foggy mind. His master sensed his sudden horror and pushed him from his lap, pulling his pants up behind him though it did nothing to hide the fact that come slicked the inside of his clothes and was beginning to leak from his ass and soak the back of his pantlegs.

He half turned, caught between the crowed still watching silently, and the Emperor who had not dismissed him. Obi-Wan jerked his own pants closed and then regarded him with a terrifyingly still expression.

“Perhaps,” he drawled, “now that you are sated you can be trusted not to follow your cock, Lord Vader. Let this be your reminder—the court’s reminder—that it is me you serve.”

“Yes, master,” he swayed on his feet, feeling dizzy with utter relief and fuzzy shock.

“You are dismissed, Lord Vader, take your men and see to your duties.”

“Yes, master, thank you, master,” he mumbled and stepped down from the dais.

* * *

That night his master bit half-moon bruises against the pale, tender flesh of his inner thighs and worked well greased fingers inside him as he crooned, “my precious darling, my beautiful whore. You’re mine—let them all see how you are mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I said we can have some clones post Order 66,you know, as a treat.


End file.
